The Return of the Dead
by Littlefoot the Warrior
Summary: 3 Weeks after Sherlock's faked death, he's back to London with the help of Molly Hooper. He fights for his innocence, and must once again risk his life for others. Although this time, its not the same ending as Reichenbach. Molly/Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

"Irene."

"Sherlock."

"Glad to see you alive."

"You're one to talk. How did you do it? That was certainly _not_ a body double."

"A magician never reveals his secrets." He smiled, their noses just millimeters away from touching.

"What about John, your precious flat mate?" Irene brings her hand up to his cheek, feeling the defined bones under the skin.

"Oblivious." Sherlock reported, no emotion in his voice. It was the only way to keep John alive, keeping him oblivious.

"How are you going to stay out of public eye? You're already a celebrity." Irene continues to stroke his cheek, making Sherlock very unnerved.

"I've got you, and Molly. Two sources for living standards, billions of opportunities to stay under cover." Sherlock made no expression at Irene's advancements.

"Two women who fancy you, two women you fancy. I can almost taste the sexual tension." Irene moistened her tongue over her bottom lip.

"Stop it. I'm not looking for pleasure for the rest of my life; I'm looking for a way to stay under the radar. I need a new name, a new look. And I have the queen of disguises ready to do anything she wants for me." He smirked. Irene smiled in return, knowing he was attributing to her dyed blonde hair, cut so short that if you only saw the back of her head and no other part of her body, you'd mistake her for a boy with a feminine haircut.

"Why don't we have dinner first?"

"Not hungry."

"Well, I'm starving." She almost moaned out, staring into his eyes, seductively.

"I've got to run. I'll see you when I need you."

"Oh, you'll need me." She lightly tapped his nose, before running off away down the alley where they met.

They had agreed to meet together in Liverpool, over 350 kilometers from London. It had been only three weeks since his "suicide," and Sherlock was enjoying the freedom to move around. Unfortunately, he was required to ditch his favorite coat, for a duller and less impressive black rain slicker with a fleece lining. Staying in hiding was difficult, especially when he desperately wanted to go and solve cases, which was the only thing he had to keep him sane. Now he had taken up smoking again, much to his distaste, in addition to wearing nicotine patches when he tried to quit. It never worked, in the end. His hair was beginning to grow longer, and he had the faintest hint of facial stubble. Every time Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror, wherever he was, he always thought he looked like he was homeless.

Irene texted him:

_You're on your own with the disguise, Sherlock. Let's have dinner sometime soon._

Sherlock texted back:

_I'm going back to London. No dinner unless you come too. -SH_

Irene did not reply to his message, and he knew why. She couldn't go back to London, not after the many attempts at her life. It was best that she stayed "Amber Less" in Liverpool.

He left the alley, stepping back into the sunlight. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Sherlock proceeded to walk lively down the street, leaving the more shady part of Liverpool. He was hardly focusing on anything else, except how to change his appearance such that John would not recognize him, yet not so big a change that it couldn't be reversed. He was going to prove his innocence, and he needed to be recognizable when it mattered. Sherlock's first thoughts were to simply go to a barber's shop to get his hair cut, but the notion of staying out of public as long as possible told him to simply go to the market and get what he needed.

A store was located only two blocks away from where the motel was that he checked into the night before. It was most likely to have things such as scissors, hair dye, and razor blades. It was just that kind of shop, he could tell by the kinds of people who were entering and leaving at that moment.

As he entered the store, the scent of pine cleaning fluid caused Sherlock to gag. _Somebody made a mess in the cleaning isle_, Sherlock thought, smiling inwardly at the irony. He pulled his scarf higher, trying to use it to filter out the strong smell of the cleaning fluid.

Walking past the cleaning isle to get to the hair product isle, Sherlock noticed the two men arguing over the ten plus bottles of fluid spilled over the floor. One was an employee; the other was a regular citizen. The employee was a female, short and thick, chopped red hair. Judging by her stance, she was clearly intimidated by the customer. The customer must not have made the mess, as he was taking the upper hand in the argument. She was leaning on a mop, meaning she was cleaning the mess when the two began the argument. The customer was a male, gray hair, in his late forties, possibly early fifties. Average height, no more than 5'8" tall. He's wearing a simple canvas jacket, with dark blue jeans. Sherlock can't help but want to hear what they're talking about, so he pretends that he's browsing the cleaning products, listening intently at their conversation.

"I don't _care_ if you have to get back to work…I've got a missing girl from…reported seen here!" Sherlock only heard bits and pieces of what the man said over the sound of the store's announcing a sale, but he glanced over, and the employee shook her head, as the man turned around to face Sherlock's direction.

"SHERLOCK!" Sherlock instantly recognized the man. Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard, stared at him in shock, for no more than a second before Sherlock took off running towards the store exit.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, Sherlock ran down the city block, Lestrade in pursuit. Sherlock soon recognized a black car he'd ridden in on too many occasions with other detectives on some of his cases. Taking a sharp left down an alley, Sherlock avoided meeting others who thought he was dead.

The next street had a few closed shops, but there was also a parking garage. Without stopping, Sherlock ran across the street, jumped over the gate, and took shelter in the garage. Peering around a column, he could see Lestrade running out of the alley, crossing the street. Sherlock's heart climbed into his throat when Lestrade's direction was towards the parking garage. _He knows me too well._ Sherlock cursed, running towards the lift.

The doors of the lift barely closed when Lestrade entered the garage. Sherlock pressed the lift button for the roof, silently praying that Lestrade was taking the stairs, checking every floor.

The doors opened on the sunlit roof, and in no time Sherlock was running to the edge of the roof. Sherlock had just barely jumped over the barrier to the neighboring rooftop, which was only ten feet shorter than the garage's roof, when he heard footsteps on the roof.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled. "I know I'm not crazy, I saw you! Get your ass out here, or I'll make sure you're dead again!" Sherlock's breath hitched when the footsteps got closer. Thinking hastily, Sherlock looked for a door, a pipe, and any kind of cover to stay hidden from Lestrade. There was nothing that this roof had to offer, so he did what he did best; he jumped off the roof.

He landed on the balcony of the top floor, and pressed himself to the door to the inside of the building. He heard Lestrade curse, and retreat back to the lift.

Sighing in relief, Sherlock opened the door behind him. He walked into the living room of a very surprised man.

"My apologies, just trying to get away from an ex. You know, women." Sherlock winked, and dashed for the stunned man's door.

"Good luck." The man said, and Sherlock closed the door behind him.

-.-.-.-

He waited in the hallway for an hour, just to be sure that Lestrade would not come looking around that area again.

Irene texted him:

_Smooth move. Better stay undercover the next couple of weeks. Why don't we have dinner, you're not going to London now._

Sherlock grunted in frustration. He banged his head against the wall for letting Lestrade see him. Sherlock replied to Irene:

_You're buying._ _-SH_


	2. Chapter 2

John sat in 221b Baker Street, slowly drinking a cup of tea. Molly Hooper sat across him in what used to be Sherlock's chair, drinking her own tea. They did this every week since the…fall…just talking. They were both very close to Sherlock. John had a slight suspicion that Molly was sitting on a big secret, but she never let on about it anymore than the slightest tension whenever his death was brought up.

"How is Ms. Hudson?" Molly broke the silence.

"Fine."

"Has it been easy, paying rent and other things?"

"Yeah. I've been working longer hours at the hospital; they don't need me to work on cases. I'm no use without Sherlock."

"Don't say that, you've helped on lots of cases." Molly touches his leg, sympathetically.

"Yes, I've _helped_. I've never actually done anything to solve a case."

"You've saved Sherlock's life on more than one occasion, that's something."

"Ha. Yeah, if I wasn't here Sherlock would have died years ago." John scoffed, and took a sip of his tea.

"Do you think it would be easier on you, you know, if you moved out of 221b?"

"Why would that be easier?" John snapped, accusingly.

"I don't–I'm just saying, John, maybe your grief over Sherlock is being dragged on because you're still living around his things, in the same apartment you shared with him." John looks at Molly disapprovingly. "I wonder if it would be in your best interests to, you know, move out. Try to forget about Sherlock." Molly tried at the sensitive topic, knowing how John could easily be set off on the topic of Sherlock.

"How could I just try and _forget him_? Molly, he was my best friend!"

"I know that! You don't think it's hard on me–"

John's cell phone buzzed erratically. He looked at it in annoyance, and proceeded to spit his tea all over the floor.

"What?" Molly stood up, stepping over the puddle to look at John's phone.

"Lestrade…texted…me!" He managed to get out between spasms of emotion.

"What did he say?"

"Look!" He held up the phone so she could see. It said:

_John, this may be shocking, but I just saw Sherlock in Liverpool. –GL_

"Holy shit!" Molly yelled. She was confused–didn't Sherlock flee to Liverpool to get _away_ from his friends?

"He couldn't have seen Sherlock in Liverpool. I watched him die, he's dead! He's been dead for 3 weeks!" John was now pacing around the living room.

"I'm sure it's just somebody who looked like him." Molly tried to be rational.

"Yeah, I bet that's it." John sat back down. His phone got another text from Lestrade:

_I chased him down 9 city blocks. No photos, but it was definitely Sherlock. –GL_

"Damnit Lestrade…" Molly cursed, quiet enough so that John didn't hear. John was now freaking out. "John. Stop this. Sherlock is dead." She grabbed his shoulders. "you have to stop!"

"Lestrade _chased_ him!"

"He has no proof it was him! Sherlock is dead, and unless some mad scientist turned him into a zombie, he is _not_ roaming the streets of Liverpool!"

"But–"

"No.

"But Molly–

"NO." She made her point of this-conversation-is-over by literally holding John's lips shut together. "Sherlock is DEAD. Lestrade is CRAZY. You need to CALM THE FUCK DOWN."

"You're right." John sighed, clearly not happy with being forced to shut up about this.

"Good." Molly sat back down in Sherlock's old chair. _This is not going to go over well._ She rubbed her head, preparing to give the punishing of a lifetime when she gets a hold of Sherlock. A few minutes of silence followed.

"Maybe I should call Lestrade…"

"JOHN! GIVE IT UP!" Molly screamed, about ready to tear John's head off. "I'm the one who examined his body, I know he is dead. You watched him die, you know he's dead!" Molly lied. She did examine his body, but it was for minor cuts and bruises.

"Why are you so against the notion that Sherlock's alive? I thought you loved him." John snapped back at her.

"I do. I've always loved Sherlock, but when you keep talking about him it makes me want to crawl in a hole and die!" John didn't say anything in return, and they sat for no more than an half an hour, and Molly took it as an opportunity to finish her tea, put the mug in the sink, say a quick goodbye and left 221b.

Molly called Sherlock immediately.

"_Yes?"_

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" Molly screamed into the phone when the taxi came by.

"_I believe that I was harmlessly shopping when I was rudely chased around Liverpool by Lestrade."_

"I thought you were going to change your appearance?"

"_I was shopping for that exact purpose."_

"Why didn't you do it before? Like, right after I drove you to Liverpool two weeks ago?"

"_I've been busy changing hotels. There's always somebody I recognize."_

"Because you're still in England, you twat. Dye your damn hair now, get a tan, grow a moustache, and get a new name. You're supposed to be dead, remember?"

"_No, I haven't forgotten that little fact."_

"Good! And don't you dare come back to London, since Lestrade saw you every fucking officer in the fucking city will flip a cap." Molly cursed. The taxi driver looked at her curiously through the rear view mirror. "What are you looking at?" she snapped. He put his attention back on the road.

"_Dear Molly, are you mad?"_

"Stop flirting with me, of course I'm mad! I'm going to hang up now, but change. Your. Fucking. Face." She hung up on Sherlock before he could reply, right as the taxi stopped at the hospital. "Thanks." She threw the fare in the front seat, and hopped out.

It started sprinkling rain outside, so Molly ran all the way to the doors. Taking the lift up, she used the time to shake off her layers of clothing. Nodding hello to a few other workers, she picked up her lab coat before entering the lab to begin work. A tall blonde man was sitting on a stool, looking through a microscope.

"Excuse me, you aren't allowed in here unless you're…" the blonde man looked up. "Sherlock?"

"Oh dear, still recognizable." Sherlock stood up from the stool.

"You were just in Liverpool!"

"Yes."

"How on earth did you get here in 45 minutes? You can't cross bloody London in 45 minutes!"

"Helicopters are actually quite easy to fly."

"Where the fuck did you get a helicopter?"

"I only borrowed it." Sherlock combed his now straight, short blonde hair with his fingers. He'd shaven recently, she could tell by his still-pink skin.

"I told you not to come back to London." Molly walked to the other side of the table, tidying up the mess Sherlock made.

"You really think I'm going to listen to you?"

"I sure hope you start."

"Molly, Molly, you should really know," Sherlock came down and whispered into her hear, "I'm not the kind of person who takes orders." Molly shuddered a bit, but kept working, while Sherlock went back to the microscope. "What…what are you working on?"

"I'm just looking at a DNA sample I swabbed from the crime scene at the factory, you know, where the kids were abducted, and trying to match it with Moriarty's DNA."

"Where did you get his DNA?"

"His body. It's still in the morgue."

"Right." Molly nodded her head, as if she should have known that.

"You're not asking me why I'm comparing."

"I don't have to. You're trying to prove your innocence, and that's something everyone is working on." Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "Well, Lestrade and I. But until now, Lestrade probably thought of you highly, but since he's SEEN you, now he's probably _skeptical_ of your innocence!"

"How's John?"

"Good."

"You're lying."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are. You looked to your upper left when you answered me, something that people only do when they're trying to make something up out of nothing. Your posture became more proper, not it's usual slouch, meaning that you were uncomfortable, most likely because it was something that you knew was not true. And what gave it away most of all, is because I know John and I know that he is not 'good.'"

"Why'd you ask then?"

"Because I needed something to talk about and I knew you'd lie." Sherlock looked back down into the microscope. Molly sighed, and got back to work.

"If I recognized you, somebody else surely will." She broke the silence after ten minutes of pure work.

"You're implying that I get facial modification?"

"Or do something else to disguise your stupid face." Molly said, purposefully.

"Sherlock, either do something to change how you look or get out of London."

"I doubt you'll do anything to threaten me, then."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because you love me." He replied bluntly. Molly was taken aback, shocked and didn't know how to respond to the comment. "Oh, don't be so shocked. I knew years ago. You're not exactly one to be gentle with the flirting." Molly still stood, staring at him in shock, while he continued work with the microscope. "Ha! Exact match! Fingerprints, hair particles, saliva, everything is an exact match!"

"Where did you get saliva at the crime scene?"

"Moriarty's a psychopath. He licked the jar with the candy in it."

"…Right." Molly added sarcastically.

"But do you know what this means? I have proof that he was there the whole time!"

"It doesn't prove that you weren't." Molly pointed out. Sherlock made an "o" with his mouth, realizing that was the final problem. He can't prove that he wasn't there when the crime happened, because he was there with the police. "Unless you can get an alibi from John, but I'm sure he would flip a cap if he saw you trying to get an alibi from him."

"Unless you got it for me." Sherlock smiled.

"Wouldn't that seem a bit suspicious? I already told him to give up worrying about you–"

"Why would you say that?" Sherlock looked a bit hurt.

"Because it was _ruining his life!_ You haven't seen him the last couple of weeks, he's been a mess! You know he's using his cane again? Yeah, he tripped down the stairs and broke his ankle. It's been on the mend but he's always gonna have that cane. Forever. He's lost weight, hasn't been eating a thing. Oh, and he broke up with this last girlfriend a few weeks ago. He hasn't even pursued _me_, which is odd because he hits on nearly every woman he sees! He's an absolute wreck, Sherlock, and its because you were his best friend!" She screamed at him. Sherlock sat back, taking in the information.

"I know you're telling the truth–"

"Of course I'm telling the fucking truth!" Molly threw down the empty plastic beaker she was carrying. Sherlock kept his mouth shut. He knew there was no point in trying to defend himself.

An hour of silent work for Molly, and silent deduction for Sherlock passed by. Molly's phone buzzed.

"Who's it from?" Sherlock said immediately.

"Lestrade. He's on his way here, he wants to look at a body in the morgue."

"I assume you want me to leave?"

"He'll catch you if you leave. Just stay in a corner somewhere and shut up. Don't call me in, don't draw attention to this room. I'll text you if he's coming to the lab." Molly took off her plastic gloves, and moved to leave the room.

"Molly"

"Hmm?"

"Th–thank you. For everything you're doing. Its very kind."

"Like you said, I love you. That's why I'm doing it." She said, and promptly left the lab.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly met Lestrade outside the morgue.

"Good afternoon, Lestrade." She said cheerfully.

"I don't know if you know yet, but I was in Liverpool a few hours ago, but something happened that made me come straight back here." He told her, in a hushed voice. Molly already knew, and she was silently murdering Sherlock in her mind, but she didn't let her thoughts be read through her face. She shook her head, letting Lestrade continue. "I saw Sherlock. I know I did. Same hair, same face. It was him, I swear."

"And..?"

"I need permission to dig up his grave."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have that kind of authorization."

"And who does?"

"Sherlock is dead. I examined his body myself."

"Did anyone else see his body between the fall and the grave?"

"So you don't trust me?"

"Do you trust me?"

"No."

"Then I don't trust you." He crossed his arms.

"You know how freaked out John was when he found out you texted him?"

"So you did find out?"

"I was _with_ John. He started shaking, Lestrade. You know his health was been really bad since Sherlock's death, and that news sent him spiraling." She took two steps closer to Lestrade. "So you better as hell leave John alone. He doesn't deserve this. He needs help. I've been going over there every so often and he just keep talking about Sherlock as if he were still alive."

"Sherlock is alive!"

"You have no proof! It's just a guy who looks a lot like him!"

"Then why did he run when I yelled his name?" Lestrade took two steps closer to Molly.

"Ask the guy who ran then, I'm sure he's eager to talk to you after you chased him."

"I'll find Sherlock. And them I'm going to arrest him." Lestrade growled.

"Whatever happened to proving his innocence?" Molly scoffed.

"That's when I thought he died a hero. But now he's a living coward."

"Sherlock was never a coward." Molly spat at him, and she whipped around and started walking back to the lab, leaving Lestrade fuming.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"How'd it go?" Sherlock asked, still looking at the microscope.

"Meh." Molly shrugged. "Lestrade called you a coward, and he wants to arrest you."

"That's not surprising."

"Sherlock, I thought you already matched the DNA."

"I did."

"And?"

"This is Moriarty's thumbprint they took at the court a few weeks back."

"Uh huh?"

"It's not the same thumbprint as the Moriarty in the morgue."

"Excuse me?" Molly rushed over to take a look herself. Sure enough, there was the slightest variation. There was a cross over the lines on one thumbprint that wasn't on the other.

"But their DNA matches exactly! That can't be!"

"The man in the morgue is not the same man as the one at the court. It's undeniable that the man in the morgue is Jim Moriarty, but the man at the court was his twin."

"You're kidding me."

"Why would I be kidding?"

"Moriarty. Has a twin who looks exactly like him and is just as insane. That's not possible, it's like something from a movie." Molly rubbed her temples, trying to wrap her mind around the prospect.

"It makes perfect sense. The real Moriarty needed to go through with the crimes, while his twin sat in the courtroom, taking his place for no more than two hours, and the real Moriarty would come back for me after the case. Jim Moriarty's brother, _Ted_ Moriarty, was an actor, famous in America."

"So, Ted Moriarty is out there somewhere, roaming the streets, with all the information you need in order to prove your innocence?"

"Exactly. I just need"–Sherlock began, but he ducked under the table. An instant later, Lestrade walked into the lab.

"Lestrade!" Molly stood up angrily. "You have no right to be here!"

"I do now." He showed her scanned document on his phone. "I am officially opening the case of a runaway psycho maniac, Sherlock Holmes. I can now demand any information from you, and if you withhold information from me I can have you arrested."

"That's not your division." Molly was fuming in fury.

"It is now." He smiled deviously.

"You'll never find anything. He's dead."

"Oh, Molly, we all know that's a lie." Lestrade said, walking out of the lab. "I'll come back when you're not busy with work." The doors closed behind him, and Molly lost it.

"I _hate_ that man!" She said angrily.

"I am not a psycho maniac!" Sherlock said, offended. He popped back up from under the table.

"We've got to fix you. Now." She grabbed his arm and led him out the opposite doorway,

"How do you expect to make me look any different? I already dyed my hair." He said, bored.

"Oh, trust me. I know a gal."

-.-.-.-.-

Sherlock opened his eyes. Molly took him to a friend's house, who was a professional makeup and prosthetics artist for television. The girl, Margaret, had drastically changed how he looked.

"Why am I a fat middle aged man?" He said, raising a brow. He had a light fat suit on, making him look worn down, and prosthetic skin added to his cheeks to give the appearance of more weight, bags under his eyes and wrinkles to his forehead.

"Because that's the kind of person you would never be, John Treble." Molly made up his name for him.

"Its so dull"

"Oi!" Margaret smacked the back of his head.

"Sorry Maggie. John just doesn't know any manners, does he?"

"I don't even look like myself."

"That's the point, dummy."

Sherlock stood up, and walked around a bit. He felt so awkward walking with the fat suit on.

"Do I have look over 17 stones?" Sherlock complained.

"Because you're only 10, so nobody would ever expect that of you."

"Molly–"

"Deal with it John." She glared. "Thank you so much, Maggie."

"No problem." Margaret turned to Sherlock. "The prosthetics will stay on overnight, just don't sleep on your face. Molly knows how to apply your makeup, in case it washes off of the prosthetics. Also, don't ever wash your face, or pull on it. It will make it come off. And remember; put those blue contacts in every morning. Your eye color is too unique, we don't want any close family or friends recognizing you." Sherlock instantly thought of John. Would he see right through his disguise? He didn't even recognize himself, it would be hard for John to, probably.

"Let's go. Thanks again, Maggie!" Molly beamed, and dragged Sherlock out of Margaret's house.

"I'm not exactly attractive now, am I?" Sherlock pulled a smile.

"Oh, but I know how you really look." Molly smiled. Sherlock put his arm around Molly's shoulders, making her heart skip two beats. She didn't mind his false appearance, she was still in love with him in every way. "Should we pretend to be a couple or…?"

"Yes, that way nobody would suspect me hanging around you at the hospital and around Lestrade." Sherlock said, still strolling with her.

"You look at least ten years older than me." Molly laughed.

"I thought you were only twenty five?" Sherlock asked, quizzically. Molly took pride in being the only human being Sherlock hadn't guessed the age of yet.

"Thirty two. Just a year younger than you."

"Forgive me."

"Of course." Molly smiled inwardly.

They had to walk all the way back to the hospital, since they could find no taxicabs. Sherlock kept his arm protectively around Molly's shoulders, as if he were expecting assassins to attack her, but he knew no such thing could happen. Lately, he felt differently around Molly. He wanted to protect her, to keep her close to him. He'd felt bad about leaving for Liverpool, but he had to leave London. But now he is back, and more than prepared to do anything for Molly. _Is this what it's like to fancy somebody?_ Sherlock thought to himself. _No, I can't possibly fancy Molly. Yes, she is incredibly intelligent and has a very high IQ, but, well, what's bad about her?_

"Our first and foremost goal is to track down Ted Moriarty. I'm sure he's gone into hiding by now, but we have to find all records of everything that goes on with him ever." Sherlock spoke in a hushed tone.

"Gotchya." Molly nodded. A cab passed, and in the back seat was John Watson, heading to 221b Baker Street from somewhere important. He didn't even glance in Sherlock's direction, even though he was looking out the window. "How come he can find a cab and we can't?" Molly complained.

"He didn't even look at me." Sherlock said, surprised and empty.

"Well, you don't look anything like yourself, that's why."

"I think you should introduce John Treble to John Watson." Sherlock said, walking a bit faster.

"You'd have to develop a less arrogant attitude then, if you want to go completely unrecognized." Molly snorted. Sherlock looked completely serious. "Oh alright, I'll bring you to my next tea session with him." Sherlock smiled happily, and the two continued to walk down the sidewalk to the hospital.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for your** **awesome reviews! I'll try to answer your questions with these nest couple of chapters.**

**FYI: When I say "John Treble" it basically means "Sherlock Holmes" because that's his undercover name. He signs his texts "SH/JT" when texting Molly, so she knows. Yeah, complicated. But you'll figure it out!**

* * *

><p>Two weeks passed. John Treble (Sherlock) got a job as a crime scene detective for New Scotland Yard, and still living with Molly. They both secretly could not decide of they were still pretending to be a couple or not. They both secretly wanted it to be real.<p>

Sherlock still had no luck whatsoever about finding Ted Moriarty. It was as if he was under the highest security in the entire world, like he didn't even exist. A "mysterious fire" had taken place at the hospital where his birth certificate was kept, so now there are no legal records of his existence. It was like witness protection for criminals.

Sherlock was getting tired of his stupid disguise. Every night he tried to take it off, but Molly always caught him in the act. Then only thing he actually had to keep on at night was the facial stuff, the rest he could take off at any given time.

Molly had gotten his things from John's flat, 221b. She convinced John that being around Sherlock's things wasn't helping his mental state, and she was able to take everything of Sherlock's.

"Oh, my skull, how much I have missed him!" Sherlock cried giddily when he took it out of the box. Molly shuddered, knowing that the human skull was 100% real.

"If there's anything missing, I can always go back. " She offered.

"Thank you, Molly." He smiled at her. Molly thought it was forced, but Sherlock knew it wasn't.

-.-.-.-

Still, weeks passed. The two had much trouble trying to find Ted Moriarty, and Sherlock was beginning to show his old traits when around Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. He still hated Donovan and Anderson, mad at Lestrade for calling Sherlock a coward, and nervous because he (John Treble) was put on the case for finding psycho maniac Sherlock Holmes. Molly tried to keep Sherlock/John Treble away from John Watson as best as she could, because of Watson's sensitivity these days.

Whenever Lestrade came in to the lab to talk with Molly about the many cases he had, it always irritated her how he kept thinking of Sherlock in a bad way.

"Lestrade!" Molly yelled one day when he was coming in to get more information out of her. "I absolutely and utterly hate you and how you're doing this stupid case!"

"Well, that's not offensive."

"Sherlock died to protect _you._ Did you know that? He knew that Moriarty was going to kill you, John and Mrs. Hudson. The only way to save you was to kill himself! He saved your life, and now you are decimating his good image!"

"How can you possibly know that?"

"He was doing some lab work before he jumped, and he told me everything he had deduced." Molly lied. Sherlock actually told her everything while she was fixing him up.

"I can't close this case, Molly."

"You never will be able to, Sherlock is dead."

"No he's not, you're hiding something and I will find it." He threatened. Lestrade accidentally knocked over a tray of test tubes.

"Oh, _now_ you've done it!" Molly fumed. "Get the hell out of my lab or so help me God–" She stopped herself. Lestrade fumbled to set the tray back up, laughing the whole time. "What the hell are you on about?"

"You don't frighten me." Lestrade dropped the smile for a more serious "_I'm better than you"_ face.

"Oh? You destroyed government property, damaged the results of a particularly important test." She motioned to the broken test tubes and the messed up liquids. "I can have you banned from this hospital for thirty days, Detective Inspector. So just watch what you say." She glared at him, making him leave the lab in a huff. She used to be good pals with Lestrade, but ever since Sherlock let himself be seen by him their friendship went down the toilet faster than you can say "Suck it."

Molly texted Sherlock: _How's the search going? –Molly_

_Not bad. There's only one problem, and it's that there's a thousand 'Ted's in the entire city. No 'Ted Moriartys,' however. –SH/JT_

_I didn't think there would be. You may have to instigate a police investigation. –Molly_

_Not without Lestrade finding out, and firing John Treble. –SH/JT_

_Any other leads? –Molly_

_No. –SH/JT_

_Have you tried 'Theodore Moriarty?' –Molly_

…_no. –SH/JT_

_Molly, you are BRILLIANT! –SH/JT_

_Yup. I can't believe you never thought about that. –Molly_

_My mind's been a bit pre-occupied, just so you know. What with the whole working-on-my-own-case business and such. –SH/JT_

_Yes, of course, such hard work. –Molly_

Sherlock found only two people with the name Theodore Moriarty. One, an old man who lived in Canada, and the other had no details, only where they were born, the date of their birth, and the hospital he was born at. But there was one more piece of information that made Sherlock nearly jump for joy: there was a record that he had a twin brother, James Moriarty.

_I have legal proof of Ted's existence and his relation to Moriarty. If I just caught Ted, I'm in the clear. –SH/JT_

Sherlock sent the message to Molly, and he quickly switched windows on his computer at work as Sally Donovan came up to him.

"We've got a fresh one, Treble. The DI wants you on this case." She told him, arms crossed, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

"If I didn't know better, I'd guess by your body language that you want me on the case with you." John Treble logged out of the work computer and led the way down to street level, with a very startled Sally following behind. Sherlock/John smirked, knowing that if he was himself, Sally would be repulsed beyond comprehension.

-.-.-.-.-

John Treble took a police cab with Lestrade, Anderson and Sally. Sitting right next to Lestrade, it was difficult to keep undercover. The change in appearance was enough, but Sherlock had to make John Treble's attitude completely different than Sherlock Holmes'. For one thing, he was actually nice to Anderson, but most of all, he had to downplay his intelligence. Cases took twice as long to solve compared to how fast he normally could, due to him trying to pretend his IQ was not above 200. It genuinely pissed Sherlock off.

"Where exactly are we going?" John asked bluntly.

"221b Baker Street." Lestrade answered, without even a twinge of emotion.


	5. Chapter 5

"221b Baker Street." Lestrade answered, without even a twinge of emotion. Sherlock's body stiffened.

"That's the home of that Sherlock Holmes fellow, right? The one who killed himself?" John asked, trying to not flip a cap.

"Yes, but I _know_ that Sherlock is alive. You're on the case, remember?" Lestrade glared out the window.

"Of course, sir." John shifted his seating position. "May I ask, do they know whose body it is there? It's not Sherlock's flat mate John, is it?"

"I don't know, John, we're going to find that out now." Lestrade said, annoyed. They pulled up to the flat, a place Sherlock hasn't been to in months. He braced himself to see anything that might upset him. _What if it's Mrs. Hudson, or John? It's teatime, it could be Molly…_ Sherlock pushed away that thought. No, it could never be Molly. He would hate himself if Molly was murdered.

They got out of the car, and John collected himself. He followed Lestrade into his old flat, taking the familiarity. The exact same wallpaper hung on the walls, the same carpets, and when they went up the stairs, the same old rickety and shaky staircase that he had begged Mrs. Hudson time and time again to fix.

They entered the living room, the room that Sherlock had spent days at a time in. Everything was the same, his stuff still all over the shelves; even the smiley face still was painted on the wall. Sherlock's eyes drifted down to the carpet, a short man with sandy blonde hair lay in a pool of blood. Mrs. Hudson stood in the corner of the room, sobbing hysterically. It took him all he had for Sherlock to not rush over and console her. Anderson began taking pictures of the body, Sherlock still refusing to look at the body. He was about to be sick, and he turned around to go to the bathroom. He almost was there, when he ran into a familiar face.

"Holy shit!" John Treble cursed in surprise. John Watson looked confused; he was just leaving his bedroom. His clothing looked stiff on him, so he's just put on the clothes in the last 5 minutes.

"I'm sorry" Watson apologized, patting Treble's shoulder.

"How? What?" Treble looked him over, still in shock. "You–"

"Hi." Watson, still very confused, answered, and maneuvered around Treble to go to the living room.

"You're not dead." Treble caught Watson's shoulder.

"No…"

"That's not your body lying in a pool of blood on the floor?"

"No…" He replied again. He shook himself out of Treble's grip, and proceeded to the living room. Treble followed him, and watched as he went over to hug Mrs. Hudson. She took his hug normally, as if she hadn't registered that the man who lay on the floor was not at all similar in appearance to John Watson.

"Treble, you alright?" Lestrade walked over to him, looking Sherlock up and down.

"Fine. I just–the blood. It made me feel sick." He lied.

"Sure, okay. You better now?"

"Fine, sir." Treble nodded, and went to walk around the body. Looking at the face, it was similar to John Watson's face but not exactly his face. "Judging by the blood spatter on the furniture this man was shot in this room, died not from the wound but from blood loss so he'd been here awhile before the body was reported, His hair has been dyed recently you can still see the stains on his scalp, body temperature is not quite room temperature so he hasn't been here more than an hour, so perhaps there was another wound that caused such blood loss." Sherlock turned the mystery man over onto his stomach. "Multiple knife wounds, the victim had close contact with his murderer; there's a bruise on his chin but its yellow its at least a week old. Do you have anything to add, Detective-Inspector?"

Lestrade looked at him in shock. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"I'm simply telling you what there is, nothing special. Dr. Watson, what time did you find the body?"

"Uhh," Watson looked at Treble in complete shock, "About a half an hour ago, I woke up from a nap. Mrs. Hudson found him first, she was bringing me tea."

"Mrs. Hudson, a gun was fired in this room. Did you not hear it?"

"No, I didn't hear a thing, I was just downstairs." She spoke out between tears.

"Then the killer used a silencer on his or her gun, but he man should've shouted out in pain, due to the bullet not killing him, oh, its obvious that the bullet didn't to it, it shot him in the leg!" Treble's eyes went wide. "This man was shot in the leg, the left leg, his hair was dyed recently and he was in here _before_ his assailant while _you, _John, were sleeping. Don't you see? He was trying to replace you. Look at his face, almost exactly like yours. One would have to be really close to you to be able to tell the difference–" Treble shut his mouth before he could keep talking. Everyone stood in complete and utter silence, tension quickly making the air hot.

"How did you know I was shot in my left leg?" Watson spoke quietly. "You said one would have to be really close to me in order to tell the difference between me and him and I only just _met_ you and you can already tell the difference."

"Oh my fucking god." Sally's jaw dropped. Sherlock took the moment to run out the door, down the stairs to the street. He could hear Lestrade shouting behind him, "GET SHERLOCK!" Sherlock was far down the street before Anderson left the flat, looking in haste for where he'd gone. Sherlock jumped into a cab, telling the driver to go immediately to Bart's hospital. As soon as the cab took off, Sherlock started pulling off the facial prosthetics, then stripped down to his underpants to take off the false stomach. Re-buttoning his shirt, pulling up his trousers and slipping his suit coat back on, Sherlock looked like his old self, except for the blonde hair.

"Thanks" Sherlock threw a tenner into the front seat before dashing out, running up the stairs to the morgue where Molly would be working.

"Sherlock!" Molly whispered in surprise at his lack of disguise. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I accidentally let my cover blow, in front of John, Mrs. Hudson, Donovan, Anderson, and Lestrade of all people. Oh, and a dead body that looks exactly like John."

"Bloody hell, Sherlock!" Molly yelled. _Thank god for soundproof walls_, Sherlock thought to himself. Molly continued to curse at him, before he took her by the shoulders, and shook her.

"Molly, I've got to hide. You _have_ to hide me. I have nowhere to go." He looked into her eyes, and she looked into his. Somewhere behind his beautiful irises, Molly could see fear.

"Oh Sherlock," Molly was flustered, trying to think of where he could go. There were trillions of places he could go, but nowhere that they could go _together_.

"Hurry Molly! I've only got thirty minutes to be out of the city before I'm found!"

"Italy!" Molly suggested on a whim. "People go to Italy all the time to escape the law! It's easy to get a new identity there!"

"Great! You go hail a cab while I your purse from your locker and let's go to the Airport!" Sherlock patted her shoulders, and was about to dash out the double doors.

"Hold up, Holmes!" Molly caught him by the back of his suit jacket. "I can't just leave, I have work! As soon as I leave, I'll be suspected of helping you!"

"You'll enjoy being on the run, Molly. You never get bored." He took her hand, and the two dashed down the halls. They opened the door to the employee locker rooms, when a voice stopped them in their tracks.

"Hello, Sherlock."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for your reviews, guys! They really help me write :)**

**Here is Chapter 6! Enjoy!**

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><p>"Hello, Sherlock."<p>

Sherlock's breath hitched in his throat; the shock of somebody in here made him fear for his and Molly's lives. That was, until he saw whose voice it was.

"John!" Sherlock breathed, whipped from running so fast.

"You're alive. How?" He limped over, his cane supporting him. Sherlock wondered when he started using it again.

"It's a bit complicated. How'd you know I would be here?"

"It's only obvious. I could tell by Molly's body language and sudden use of nicer clothes and makeup that you were here. Then when you ran, I knew you'd come here. Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade still don't know where I went." John was now face to face with Sherlock. Sherlock stuck his hand out to shake with him, but John punched him instead, knocking him to the ground.

"What the hell was that!" Sherlock yelled.

"That's for the hell I've been in for the last two months. Next time you play 'hooky' on life, please let your best friend know about it first." John held out a hand to help him up.

"Fair enough…" Sherlock grunted, rubbing his cheek. "Look, we've got to go. Will you come with us?"

"Where to?"

"Molly says Italy. But I say Norway." He explained while Molly got her purse and coat out of the locker. "Let's go! Lestrade will probably look for me here in the next 20 minutes. Are you coming?"

"Always." John huffed behind them, his leg clearly slowing him down. All 3 ran down the hallway to the elevator.

"John, what did you do to your leg?"

"I tripped down the stairs."

"How long ago?"

"About 7 weeks, I think."

"Oh, you can lose the cane." Sherlock yelled behind him, stopped to take the cane from John, and watched as he started to run faster and faster. Sherlock caught up with him and Molly, and stopped in front of the elevator.

"Wouldn't it be faster to take the stairs?" John huffed.

"No, because the general velocity of an elevator–"

"Shut it, Holmes." Molly breathed, still catching her breath. Sherlock closed his mouth, and leaned against the wall. The elevator dinged open, revealing Lestrade and another officer in full view of the trio.

"Run!" Sherlock yelled, holding Molly's hand and John running faster than Sherlock had ever seen him run before. On that level, there was a doorway to the outside, where one would easily get to the roof. The three were up there in an instant, panting, as Sherlock looked around the edges. "Ah-ha!" He jumped off the roof.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, then Molly jumped off the roof right after him. John hesitated, but when Lestrade burst through the doors, he turned, saluted, and pencil-dived off, having no idea where he was going to land.

"SHERLOCK!" Lestrade yelled at them, as John caught his footing. He'd forgotten that there was a balcony for the employees who smoke. Sherlock pulled him under the lip of the roof, and they ran back inside the building. They closed the door while Lestrade landed on the same balcony. Molly shut the door, and with her keys, she locked it.

"This way!" She motioned. There was a section of the hospital that backed up to a park, where there was only one flight of outdoor stairs you had to run down to get to the park, and the street. There were a couple cabs there, waiting for customers. Sherlock told the first cab to drive over to the next block, and the three got in the second cab. They all sighed when their cab left the hospital.

"I missed running like that." John laughed. Sherlock smiled, and Molly giggled a little. "So, Norway?"

"I thought we were going to Italy!" Molly protested.

"No, Italy is too obvious. Oh, and I forgot to tell you, I was researching Ted Moriarty before I went to 221b, I'd found an address in Norway where a letter was sent from Jim Moriarty. So, Oslo Norway."

"Do you even have the money for three plane tickets?" Molly looked at him, skeptically.

"No, but you and John do!" He gave her a slight smile. And she sighed.

"Fine. When you're proven innocent, you're paying me back."

"Deal."

"I'm sorry, I'm still confused. What are we doing?"

"Jim Moriarty's twin brother, Ted Moriarty, had a hand in the series of crimes that took place. He's the only proof that I am not a fraud."

"So, you're just going to go there, find this guy, and make him tell Lestrade everything? What if he refuses?"

"I have the feeling that I can make him come with us." Sherlock said, pulling a small handgun out of his jacket pocket to show John. Molly moved away from Sherlock hastily.

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Oh please, Molly. I have a harpoon for God's sake." He pulled out another gun to give to her. She held it by her thumb and forefinger, trying to find the safety to turn it on, before slipping the handgun in her pocket. "John, I assume you still have your gun?"

"Wherever you're concerned, I always have my handgun." John smiled. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Yeah, I'm pretty happy about that too." Sherlock nodded his head in agreement.

"So, what then? We're just gonna buy one-way plane tickets to Norway and see if this guy even still exists?" Molly asked skeptically. "Besides, we can't exactly get on a plane with guns in our pockets!"

"Have you never done a trip-n-slip?" Sherlock looked at her funny. Molly raised her hands in defeat, letting the silence in the cab thicken.

They arrived at London City Airport, paying the taxi driver with Molly's credit card. Molly bought each of them a one-way ticket for the next flight to Oslo Airport, reluctantly swiping her card, for each ticket was nearly 1,000 pounds. The next flight took off in two hours, and the flight lasted three hours.

"Sherlock, what about passports?" Molly asked, being treated to coffee by Sherlock, while John went to the bathroom.

"Not to worry." He pulled out 3 passport copies, one for him, one for John, and one for Molly.

"Where on earth did you get these? And why?"

"I carry a copy of all my friends' passports, and since you and John are my only friends, I only brought your passport copies." He tucked his and John's passports back into his pocket.

"How?" Molly shook her head. Sherlock's mind was a fantastic place of intelligence and psycho mania.

"It's easy, you leave it lying on the dining table."

"Not exactly an excuse." She raised her eyebrows.

"No." He nodded. Molly decided to change the subject.

"So, what do you hope to find?"

"In Oslo? Ted Moriarty, of course. Alive too, hopefully. Also, I've been trying to wrap my mind around why there was a dead man in John's flat who was an almost exact copy of John."

"It's sorta creepy."

"But why would anybody _ever_ want to replace John? And what on earth would they do to him once they did replace him?"

"You're asking me?"

"No, I'm asking my brain WHICH ISN'T HELPING ME DEDUCE!" He smacked his temples, as if that would help him think. "It's like it's being muddled with emotion!"

"Uh huh…" Molly took a sip of her coffee.

"I can't think of any kind of emotion that would cloud the senses. It's like –oh." He made an "o" with his mouth, sneaking a glance at Molly, who was staring at him like he was a madman.

"Yes?"

"No, it's nothing." He waved it away. _It's like Love._ He mentally punished himself for letting himself let his emotions handicap his sense of deduction.

"Well, you're not telling me this master plan of yours."

"That because I don't have one." Sherlock sipped at his coffee.

"Excuse me?"

"So, I just spent 3,000 pounds on one-way plane tickets to _bloody Norway_ and you don't even have a plan?"

"I bought you coffee."

"Sherlock!"

"It will come to me as I go."

"You are unbelievable."

"The best." He winked. Molly couldn't help but smile, making Sherlock smile back. They stared at each other in complete silence, the sexual tension filling the café, only to be interrupted when John returned from the bathroom.

"Okay, what's out gate? B14? Well, lets go!" He motioned them to follow. They were all the way at Gate F12, far from where their plane would take off in an hour and a half. Molly and Sherlock grabbed their coffees and followed the joyous John. Sherlock reached out for Molly's hand, which took it. They strolled through the airport, oblivious to the danger that now surrounded their once-dull lives.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Just fifteen minutes after the plane took off, Molly was already asleep on Sherlock's shoulder, while he looked out the window. Sherlock told her what kind of crops were growing in the farm fields below, knowing just by the color they were at that time of the year. Sherlock didn't notice her fall asleep.

"That there is a simple pasture, you can tell because the grass is regular green and there's the sheep…"

John was in the aisle, ordering a drink from the cart. The attendant handed him his tea, and John watched in amusement, as Sherlock remained oblivious that Molly was sleeping on his shoulder.

"Oh! See that forest? Right there? That's Lucas Hill Wood. I had an aunt living around there as a child. I would pretend that I was a pirate trying to hide his treasure–"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John? –oh." He saw Molly dozing. Sherlock turned back to the window, and remained silent until they landed in Oslo.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks all, for your reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter! I sure had fun writing it! It's like, twice as long as a normal chapter that I write :D**

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><p>"Sherlock, where do you expect us to <em>go<em> exactly?"

"I'm thinking."

"So…you don't have a plan?" Molly raised her eyebrow. They were in the middle of Oslo, and confused as hell as to where they were going. Sherlock was the only one of them who could speak Norwegian.

"Thank you for putting it into terms that are less than exceptional." He rolled his eyes. John was over at a paper stand, getting an English newspaper with the Norwegian currency they exchanged at the airport.

"Well, seeing as you just flew us across the North Sea, you had hours to think about it, I just assumed–"

"MOLLY!" Sherlock snapped at Molly's angry tone of voice. "I can't! I just can't come up with a plan! Normally I would have at least twenty-nine point five plans by now, but I don't even have one. I'm stuck! I'm just, I'm stuck." He blurted out, flustered. He sat down on the park bench, running his hands through his hair, trying to figure out a plan.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John said, coming back with the paper.

"What?" Sherlock snapped at him too. John looked taken aback, but he continued talking.

"The front lines, read them." John handed him the paper, and he snatched it up. His eyes raking the page, he read the headline and article.

**RUNAWAY FELON: THE FRAUD SHERLOCK HOLMES FAKED HIS OWN SUICIDE.**

**By Kitty Riley**

**In a surprising turn of events, two months ago a reported sighting of the supposed "dead" fake detective Sherlock Holmes entered police records. Just yesterday evening, the Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard witnessed Holmes remove his disguise and run from officers at a crime scene at his previous flat, 221b Baker Street. He was thereupon chased to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where he took hostages Molly Hooper and John Watson. He was last seen fleeing the Hospital with his hostages.**

"**It was an absolute shock to see him. There were witnesses of his death; he couldn't possibly have faked it. Yet, he did, and now this extremely dangerous man is roaming the streets of London." Said DI Greg Lestrade, upon being asked what it was like to see him after this short period of time. When asked about the hostages, Lestrade replied: "I was in pursuit of him myself, and to me it did not appear that Molly [Hooper] and John [Watson] were being brought with him by force. "**

**There is an investigation currently running to track Holmes down, with the help of federal agents. So far, there are no leads to where Holmes has taken up hiding.**

"Complete bullshit!" Sherlock yelled at the paper, "They make it sound like I'm some sort of 'evil bad guy'', which I most certainly am NOT."

"At least they don't know about us." Molly said, then continued hastily, "I mean, us _three, _coming to Norway. They don't know about that."

"This paper was printed and distributed in the last 6 hours. If Lestrade learned anything from me, then he probably figured it out by now. All he has to is log into the company work computer and he'll see all those files for Ted Moriarty." Sherlock stood up, and quickly strode down the street with Molly and John in tow. "You know what? It's very late." Sherlock spun around to meet his friends, who had to walk very fast to keep up with him. "Let's find ourselves a nice hotel." John and Molly looked at each other, not realizing that Sherlock ever actually slept.

"Uhm, okay." John shrugged, and Molly looked content with the idea.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

They checked into the Thon Hotel Europa, and booked 3 single rooms, all next to each other. Molly and John went down the street to buy some clothes for the night, whilst Sherlock sat in his room, entering his mind-palace, trying to come up with some theories as to what was actually happening to them. First, John's body-double that was murdered in their sitting room, and two, the fact that they were hiding away in fucking Norway from Lestrade, trying to find Jim Moriarty's twin brother, so Sherlock can go back to solving crimes with New Scotland Yard.

Meanwhile, Molly waited in line at the checkout whilst John looked to buy something they could microwave at their hotel rooms, to supplement their lack of dinner, and Molly's refusal to pay for room service for the three of them. She had picked out a set of pajamas for herself, a set for Sherlock, and a change of clothing for tomorrow (for herself).

"Jeg snakker ikke norsk." Molly read from a Norwegian phrase book she was buying, when the cashier tried to speak to her. "Snakker du engelsk?"

"Nei, ingen engelsk her." The cashier replied, too fast for Molly to fully understand by reading the book. She only picked up "Nei" and "Engelsk," so "no English." Molly only nodded, and proceeded to swipe her credit card in the machine. She swiped it again when John hobbled over (his leg had begun hurting, and he wished Sherlock didn't chuck his cane back at the hospital), with three microwave dinners for them.

"Ready?" Molly asked when they'd finished checking out. John nodded yes, and they made the return trip back to the hotel.

"Molly?"

"Yep?"

"This is all complete bonkers."

"Oh, I'm used to it. Been taking care of Sherlock for a long time now, he's always got these crazy ideas."

"So you knew?"

"I helped him do it." Molly said, bluntly. John looked at her in shock, then shook his head and continued walking.

"I just can't believe he's actually alive. I mean, it's completely unbelievable."

"I can believe it."

"Am I in some sort of dream? Because I'm pretty sure that I _watched_ him die, I felt his bloody pulse, and he was _dead_!"

"John, you can stop talking now."

"Why?"

"Because you are freaking out and people are staring."

"Oh." He looked around, and the other pedestrians were giving the foreign man who was having some sort of emotional breakdown weird looks. The Hotel was on the same block as the shop, and they entered the hotel lobby in silence. Molly pressed the lift button, taking them upstairs.

John retreated back to his room, and Molly brought him the pajamas and a microwave dinner, even though he hardly ever ate. She knocked on his hotel door, to which he immediately replied, "come in."

"It's locked, Sherlock." Molly spoke through the wood, after attempting to turn the knob on the door. There was the sound of him getting up off the bed and walking towards the door. It swung open, with Sherlock already on his way back to the bed. He flopped down, staring at the ceiling. "I bought you these." She set the plastic shop bag with the dinner and the pajamas on the night table. Molly stood awkwardly for a second, and then went to sit down on the couch, staring out the window at the city they had come to in an irrational decision that had almost no logical reason.

"You don't have to stay, I'm perfectly capable of getting myself ready for bed." Sherlock spoke, at a tone that was almost distasteful.

"I just…I just wanna look at you." She said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "No! I mean, I haven't seen you look like yourself in a month." She smiled. Sherlock sat up and walked over to her, eyebrow still raised. "I mean, without the facial prosthetics, the makeup, and the false stomach, all you really gotta do is dye –" Sherlock cut her off, with a swift, soft kiss to her mouth. It lasted only a second, in which once he pulled away, Molly replied "no, no no." and pulled him back to her by the collar of his purple shirt. He placed one of his hands on her leg, and the other cupped her face. Molly held onto the shirt collar, passionately moving her mouth around his.

When he pulled away for a breath of air, Molly sighed.

"Well." She breathed.

"Quite." Sherlock nodded, but stayed sitting next to her on the couch.

"Any particular…reason?" She ran a hand through her loose hair.

"You–" He stammered, "You, Molly. Have always been there. For me. Trustworthy, loving, caring, and loyal Molly." He nodded. "It doesn't matter what I do, you always support me. Hell, you put up with my crap for all these years, and I hardly returned the favor." Sherlock tugged at his collar. "I think–I think I love you."

Molly looked at him, mouth wide open. _Did he actually say that?_ _Did Sherlock Holmes actually tell me that he loved me?_ She attacked him, her mouth pressed firmly to his, arms wrapped around his neck.

Sherlock accepted this as a reply. She had in fact, before, told him she loved him. She showed clear signs of affection, and all this came bubbling up when he told her his feelings. He let her lead the way in the ordeal, her being the most experienced and all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John woke up that morning feeling sore. The mattress on his bed was hard and smelt like tomato soup, and the sheets and duvet provided no comfort.

He quickly showered; dressed into the clothes he wore the day before, and left his room to go to the complimentary breakfast downstairs in the restaurant. John was about to pass by Sherlock's room, when Molly slipped out, clutching the shopping bags from the day before.

"Molly?" John asked. She turned and gasped in surprise, then hurried off to her room. John raised his eyebrows, then pushed open the slightly cracked door that opened to Sherlock's hotel room.

"John." Sherlock looked up from his cell phone. Sherlock was wearing only the pajama bottoms that Molly bought him yesterday, and remained shirtless. His blonde hair was ruffled, despite its shortness. John's eyes drifted to the bed, unmade and rumpled.

"Did you shag Molly?" He jerked a thumb in the direction of the door.

"Well, _shag_ is an interesting word –"

"Nope. No, I'm just gonna go downstairs. Free breakfast." He flustered. Sherlock was now beet red in the face, embarrassed by the confrontation of his friend. "You should –yeah. Never mind." John turned around and quickly rushed out the door.

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, and pulled on his shirt from yesterday. He was completely embarrassed, yet slightly peeved that John had the nerve to ask such a question. It was a bit of a personal matter, not something he'd happily tell Lestrade if he wasn't trying to hunt him down.

A swift two-tap knock at the door pulled Sherlock out of his train of thought. Opening it, Molly smiled up to him.

"Wanna get breakfast?" She pointed down the hall.

"Sure." Sherlock slipped on his shoes. Molly waited for him outside the door, and he took her hand. Sherlock wasn't much for holding hands, but hers was so small and dainty, he couldn't help it. Sherlock was so awkward around women he fancied, but Molly was not a regular woman. She was kind, and she didn't pressure him into things, didn't make him do anything he didn't want to. Sure, she could yell at him and push him around, but that was to save his life.

-.-.-.-.-.-.- 12 hours earlier

"Sir, we've triangulated John Watson's cellular." Sally Donovan called to Lestrade as he came out of his office. "I've got it on GPS. The bastards are in Oslo, Norway."

"Let's round them up." He ran back in to get his coat, and Sally pulled hers on. Anderson called in more officers, and the ten total agents set off for the airport.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-Present time

Molly pushed the lift button, and while they waited, Sherlock bent down to embrace her lips. The doors opened, and they went down to the ground floor.

Seconds later, the doors reopened, and the couple left the lift, only to run back in. Sherlock held his hand over molly's mouth to stifle her scream, and once the doors closed again, he started curing left and right. Lestrade had John pinned down on the floor of the lobby, and Anderson speaking with the receptionist at the front desk.

"How the hell did they find us?" Molly cried.

"I'm so stupid, they triangulated the cell phones!" Sherlock hit his head on the wall of the lift. "My brain has been so muddled with stupid emotions!"

"Stupid?" Molly stared accusingly.

"Yes, emotions! Stupid! Getting in the way intelligence! This is why I never let myself fall in love, I just become a stupid average person!" molly glared at him, and then stood up from the floor.

"Well, I guess that makes me an incredibly stupid person then." She slipped out the lift doors as they reopened on their floor.

"Right–no! Molly, I didn't mean –"

"Lets just get our stuff and get the hell out of here, okay? We can talk about stupid emotions when we're not resisting arrest." She ran down the hall to unlock her door, and Sherlock unlocked his. He grabbed his coat, the only other thing he brought, left the keycard on the table, and dashed into Molly's room. She'd just put her hairbrush back into her purse when Sherlock ran in. "Okay." She ran past him, and the two went towards the emergency back exit.

"Molly, let me just explain."

"Sherlock, keep running." She spat back, and sped down to the bottom of the outdoor staircase. They ran across the street, and Sherlock pulled out the address that was linked to Ted Moriarty out of his coat pocket. Molly dragged him into a shop first.

"I've got to change my appearance, too." She said, grabbing the first box of hair dye she found. It was bleach blonde. Sherlock grabbed a box of dye himself, picking a reddish color. "Over here." Molly found the restroom, a one-person-at-a-time thing. She pulled Sherlock inside, and turned on the faucet. She started rinsing her hair, and ripped open the box of dye.

"Shouldn't you buy that first?" Sherlock commented.

"I can buy it when I'm done using it." She muttered, applying the dye. "Read to me how long I have to rub this into my scalp." She nodded to the instructions inside the box. He grabbed it.

"Just ten minutes." He said. Molly moved over so Sherlock could start dying his hair.

"They've got John." She said.

"He won't give away information."

"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried because Lestrade has John. You're worried about him."

"Of course I am, Molly. He's my best friend. I feel like an absolute dick for hiding form him for two months, then here I come back into his life, and he gets arrested because I carelessly forgot to tell him to leave his cellular in London."

"Right. Stupid emotions."

"Molly." Sherlock sighed.

"No, Sherlock, don't. I should have remembered that knowledge comes first before love."

"Molly."

"And right now, love is just a stupid emotion that gets in the way. We're on the fucking run, for fuck's sake."

"Molly."

"What?" She shouted, exasperated.

"I love you." He pressed his mouth to hers, both of them still rubbing the dye in their hair.


	8. Chapter 8

__**Finally updating! Sorry that it's such a short chapter, but have fun reading it!**

* * *

><p><span>At New Scotland Yard, 12:00pm, three days later<span>

"John, for the last time, tell us _exactly_ what you, Sherlock and Molly were doing in Oslo." Lestrade rubbed his head. John was always either lying to them, or he refused to talk altogether. This time, John just shook his head, arms crossed. "John, you're my friend. I would really hate to see you tortured for withholding information from the police."

"I thought Sherlock was your friend, but now you're trying to track him down and arrest him on false pretences!" John yelled at him, snapping his head up.

"Sherlock was my friend, until he admitted to being a fraud."

"Sherlock was never a fraud, you know that."

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. If he can prove it to me that he is no fraud, then I will stop hunting him down and award him."

"So you have some faith in him."

"I never said that." replied Lestrade, with the slightest twitch of his right eye. Sherlock taught John many, many months ago that you can detect a lie from Lestrade if he twitches his right eye. John deducted from this slight slip of Lestrade's composure that he still had a glimmer of hope for Sherlock. This was definitely new.

-.-.-.-.-.-Oslo, Norway, 7:00pm, two weeks later

"Anything?" Sherlock asked Molly, entering their flat in Oslo. It was a small one-bedroom flat, with one common room and one bathroom. Sherlock Holmes, or Peter Harvey, had just returned from shopping, whilst Molly Hooper, or Alice Harvey, was working on a laptop computer, searching databases and other sites for Ted Moriarty. Sherlock strode over to her, planting a kiss on her forehead. He ran his fingers through her long, bleach-blonde hair.

"Nothing." She turned around to face him, and jumped into his arms. She breathed in his aroma, smiling as he carried her from the table to the couch. He gently set her down, but pulling her mouth to his. They kissed on the dingy couch for a while, Molly running her hands through Sherlock's ginger hair, exchanging wet kisses, groaning into the others' mouth. A knock on the door broke up their romantic embrace. "I'll get that." She muttered, hopping up on her bare feet. She looked through the peephole, only to gasp and stagger backwards. Sherlock's eyes widened, and he dashed up to look for himself. There, outside their door, was Mycroft Holmes, donning his regular suit and umbrella. Sherlock glanced at Molly, until Mycroft spoke through the door.

"Sherlock, I know you're in there. Let your dear brother in, won't you?" He said, with a tone of arrogance. Sherlock reluctantly opened the door, letting his older brother in.

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock groaned unhappily, in his deep voice. Molly swiftly turned away from Mycroft, embarrassed, because her hair was now messed up and her lips swollen from kissing Sherlock.

"Can't a man pay his brother a visit once in awhile? I haven't seen you since you 'died.'" Mycroft shut the door behind himself, and sat down on the couch. "Lovely to see you, Molly Hooper. I must say however, that blonde hair does not suit you."

"Oh, shut up Mycroft." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Why are you really here? How did you find me?"

"You forget that I _am_ the British government. You could be time traveling and I could still find you. Now, as a matter of grave importance, I hope that you know that Lestrade has Dr. Watson locked up at New Scotland Yard. Its only because of me that he hasn't lost the flat." Mycroft fiddled with his umbrella.

"And you felt the need to come all the way here…_because?_" Molly raised her eyebrows, turning from the miniscule kitchen to face him.

"Regular communication could be intercepted, the only way to go unnoticed by the police is to meet somebody in person. Really, Sherlock, I expected you to know that."

"I've been pre-occupied." Sherlock stole a glance at Molly. "My mind's been a bit fuzzy lately. I'm getting tired of the chase."

"Just be careful, little brother. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Like you ever cared." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft rose from his chair, and pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his coat. He handed it to Sherlock.

"Just in case you want to get the ball rolling." He said, and then showed himself out the door.

Molly looked at the note, and then at Sherlock, who stood there, eyes gaping at it. He opened it, read it, and then closed it. Sherlock walked straight for the bedroom.

"What is it?"

"Pack your bags, we're going to London."

"Excuse me?"

"Just do it, the next flight is in one hour."

"Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere until you explain what we are doing going _back to London_!"

"I'll explain later, just pack the necessities and come!" Sherlock walked out of the bedroom and up to Molly. "Just trust me on this, okay?"

After a few seconds, Molly gave in. "Okay."

-.-.-.-.-.-.- Arriving at Heathrow Airport

"Will you tell me now?"

"Not yet, you'll see."

"Sherlock, just _tell me_, this is getting annoying." Molly glared at Sherlock as they left the terminal. An announcement came on, telling them what baggage claim they're in. "I'll go get our bags, you just get some coffee or something." Molly and Sherlock left in opposite directions, Molly for the escalator and Sherlock for the Starbucks kiosk.

A rather annoying American girl was trying to order, and her accent so thick that it was difficult to understand her. _She must be from Northwest America; she pronounces her vowels too long. She's alone, and wearing a Rotary International polo, so she's either landing here to meet her host family or on a connecting flight._ Sherlock deduced. He looked back to the menu, and waited for his turn to order.

-.-

Molly stepped off the escalator, looking for baggage claim 8. Locating it, she waited for their bags to arrive. It was a struggle to pull them off the belt, but as soon as she did, Molly felt somebody grab her arm.

-.-

Sherlock scanned the crowd for Molly. He held two caramel mochas in his gloved hands, his blue coat hanging off his thin frame. With his heart in his throat, he saw their two suitcases sitting on the ground, ignored by the crowd.

He ran over to their abandoned luggage, still holding the coffees. He leaves them on the conveyor belt, and makes sure that both suitcases have Molly's address written on them before chucking them too on the conveyor belt.

He has no idea where to go. Jumping onto the median between conveyor belts, he scans the crowd from above. There's a glimpse of a blonde woman being dragged away, limp.


	9. Chapter 9

"Molly!" Sherlock yells into the crowd, desperate.

"Sherlock, I'm right here."

Sherlock looks down to see Molly standing there, arms crossed.

"Oh." He jumps down, and straightens his coat. "Nice take, Molly. Pretty easy replacement, isn't it? You tried to fool me, but you can't. The hair is too recently dyed; your nose is too large, your lips too pink; Molly's are a lot redder. Your body is also too different, the way you carry yourself suggests that you recently had to have a breast reduction, since you're carrying yourself too delicately. Also, you have a mark on your ear, clearly just makeup to cover a birthmark because you know that Molly doesn't have a birthmark. So I have one thing to say to you. Where. Is. Molly. Hooper."

Sherlock grabs hold of the fake Molly and drags her off to one of the telephone booths, and he closes the curtain.

"I will kill you, you know. Nobody messes with Molly on my watch." Sherlock wraps his hand around fake Molly's throat, threatening to squeeze.

"Sherlock, I really don't know what you're talking about." Fake Molly breathed, on edge.

"You know perfectly well what I am talking about so just_ tell me where she is!_" His grip on her throat grew tighter.

"I don't know!" fake Molly cried. "They wouldn't tell me, they just told me to become her! They'll kill me if I tell you anything else!"

"I'll kill you right now if you don't tell me everything." Sherlock growled.

Fake Molly was about to speak, but gunshots rang through the baggage claim.

"They're here for me you have to get me out!" fake Molly was crying, trying to pull herself out of Sherlock's grasp.

"Fine." He let go, and she fell to the ground, gasping for breath. He pulled off his coat and draped it over her head. "Once I get you out, you are going to tell me _everything_ that you know."

"Okay." She sniffed, and they hurried out of the telephone booth. A service elevator was easy enough to hack, and they were out of the airport soon enough.

"What's your name?" Sherlock grudgingly asked.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth Rayson." Fake Molly replied, pulling Sherlock's coat off her head. "But you can call me Lizzie."

"Okay, Elizabeth. Start explaining." Sherlock dragged her by the arm into a taxi.

"It's my job." Lizzie began. "I was hired by a man with no name to replace Molly, and if I messed up at all he would kill me. I needed the money, I couldn't get a job. I'm an actor, nothing more."

"Do you have any idea where Molly Hooper is?" Sherlock stopped Lizzie from walking, and held onto her as so she couldn't move.

"No!" Lizzie shook her head, "I don't even know who my boss is. He just sends me letters with money and instructions on who to look like and what I need to do to look like them."

"Fine. I can't think of anything else to do now. Hmm, that's new. Okay, we're going straight to New Scotland Yard." Sherlock told the cab driver.

"But you'll get arrested!" Lizzie protested. Sherlock gave her a quizzical look, but Lizzie continued. "I had to do some research on you before I replaced Molly, Sherlock. I couldn't show up knowing nothing." Sherlock only nodded in acknowledgement.

"As long as I have you with me, I can prove to Lestrade that something is up, and he'll help me. You'll be safe there, they're quite good at keeping people safe and sound inside their cells." Lizzie was about to protest against being held in a cell, but Sherlock waved her off.

They got out of the cab and ran straight into New Scotland Yard. Officers were on Sherlock and Lizzie in an instant, shoving Sherlock's face into the tiled lobby floor.

"Well, well, Sherlock decided to make a visit." Lestrade's voice sounded from in front of him.

-.-.-.-.-

"So you see, Lestrade, I've been tracking Ted Moriarty for the last few weeks. Molly got abducted, and replaced by Miss Rayson here. Same as John over a month ago, but John's replacement screwed up somehow, causing his termination. It is now the duty of New Scotland Yard to place Miss Rayson under the protection of the government as her life is now in danger." Sherlock explained to Lestrade in the interrogation room. Lizzie and John sat in chairs at his sides.

"So where's Molly?" Lestrade's face soon became worried.

"No clue." Sherlock shrugged, and leaned back. John rolled his eyes in annoyance at Sherlock's carelessness, and Lizzie just sat, tense.

"Detective-Inspector, I'm really not going to be of much help if I'm set to be assassinated." Lizzie spoke up, "Could I just stay in your safest prison cell or something? What I hear about the Moriarty's, I'm as good as dead."

"We can offer you the highest of security here in New Scotland Yard, if you desire it." Lestrade replied. He turned to Sherlock. "If what you say is true, I will drop all charges. Clearly Ted Moriarty is trying to get to you, and if that is so I'm sure you're perfectly innocent of all other crimes." Lestrade winked, and an officer came in to unlock the handcuffs on the trio's wrists.

"I believe another faker is in this very building, Detective-Inspector." Sherlock stood up, rubbing his wrists.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where oh where is the real Sally Donnovan?" Sherlock strode into the hallway and grabbed the faker's wrist. Lestrade immediately cuffed the faker, and took her into the interrogation room.

"You are good." The Fake Sally grunted. "How could you tell?"

"You didn't come into the interrogation room, questioning Lestrade of his choice to free me. The real Sally Donnovan would never stand for it." Sherlock shrugged. "You do take a good appearance of her, though. Except for that behavioral difference, you could have fooled me."

"And now if I step foot outside this building, I'm dead. Thank you, Sherlock Holmes. You try to compliment me, but you just signed my death certificate." The faker hissed at Sherlock, before Lestrade and other officers forced her into the interrogation room.

"You sure fucked that up." Lizzie chided.

"I pretty much signed your death certificate too, Elizabeth." Sherlock turned to her.

"I don't care, I've been at this job long enough to know that once you disappear, it's hard for the boss to find you again." Lizzie smiled slightly, then entered the interrogation room behind Lestrade.

-.-.-.-

Molly blinked, eyes adjusting to the bright light in her face. Her hands and feet were tightly tied to a metal chair. Her head hurt, and she could feel the start of a bruise on her cheek. The rest of the room was black as pitch, but a metal table and Molly herself were very brightly lit. A voice came out of the shadows.

"Nice to see you, Molly."

Molly gasped, and found her voice raspy and throat dehydrated. She managed to say one word.

"Jim?"

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><p><strong>Heey! Sorry this chapter is so short, and it took me so long to update. More on the way! <strong>

xo

Littlefoot


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi all! Sorry it's been months since I last updated...I was really busy and I got bored...mostly distracted...**

**its a really short chapter, sorry about that.**

**enjoy!**

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><p>"Jim?" Molly gaped at the man in the Westwood suit standing in front of her. Her voice was scratchy, clearly dehydrated.<p>

The man laughed. "No, I'm not my brother, dear Molly. But he talked so, _so_ much about you!" He walked around the table, and whispered in her ear: "_I'm so much more than my brother._"

"Ted?" Molly choked, her throat so raspy she found it near impossible to speak. Her eyes looked at the twin brother of Sherlock's greatest nemesis, the man that the two had been searching for for weeks. His hair had been slicked back, and his black Westwood suit perfectly trim and ironed.

"Of course, who else? My idiot brother had to go and kill himself, leaving me the only Moriarty left." He walked back to the other side of the table to face Molly. "Now, your little Sherlock is supposed to be dead. But we're going to fix that, aren't we?" He smiled, and a door behind Ted Moriarty opened. A tall, blond-headed man entered, clad in black suit and tie. "Miss Molly Hooper, meet a good friend of my brother's, Colonel Sebastian Moran."

"Hello Miss Hooper." Moran bowed at his waist curtly.

"Sebby here is going to kill you if Sherlock doesn't die in the next 48 hours." Ted Moriarty smiled, and then left the room, closing the metal door behind him. Moran pulled a metal chair from the darkness over to the table, and set a large caliber Glock on the metal table. It hit the shiny surface with a thud, and Molly flinched.

"Do not feel intimidated, Miss Hooper." Moran sat down on the chair, and put his feet on the table. "I'm only here in case Sherlock tries anything funny. If he does," He eyed the gun. Molly drooped her head in exhaustion.

"Are you thirsty?" Moran snapped his fingers in Molly's face. She jerked her head up, and he pulled a whisky flask out of his coat pocket. He unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. After looking at it, he took another swig, screwed the cap on, and slid the flask back inside his coat pocket. "Sorry, I can't give you anything. Boss's rules." He smirked, and leaned his head back. Molly drooped her head back down, hoping to sleep the time away.

But the screeching of the metal door opening interrupted her silence. Molly whipped her head up, to see one of the detectives from Scotland Yard being drug into the room. One of the two henchmen pulled a metal chair from the darkness to sit on the floor beside Molly, and they shoved the unconscious detective into the chair, and began tying her to it. The detective's curly brown hair hung in her face, but when her head lolled back, Molly was able to recognize the detective. Sally Donovan's eyes twitched, and the two henchmen left the room. Moran had not moved an inch.

-.-.-.-

Sherlock paced the corridor outside the interrogation room. The two fakers together didn't have enough information as to who their boss was, why they were replacing the people around Sherlock, and where they could find Molly or Sally.

"This. Is. Doing. Nothing!" Sherlock punched at the wall, startling John.

"We'll find them." He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, as if the touch would calm him down.

Lizzie entered the hallway. She grabbed Sherlock by the coat collar and dragged him a few feet from where he was punching the wall.

"I think you have some explaining to do."

"Pardon?" He swatted her hand away from his coat.

"Molly. She's your girlfriend?" Lizzie crossed her arms.

"I wouldn't use the word, 'girlfriend,' more like 'sexual partner.'"

"Okay, so Molly is your 'sexual partner,' but your 'sexual partner' has a tracking device implanted under her collarbone."

"Pardon?" he raised his eyebrow.

"Missing persons looked over her medical records and noticed a small tracking chip implanted such that it sits directly against her right collar bone. Did you do that?" Lizzie produced a piece of paper from her pocket to show Sherlock, who scanned it.

"No, when was this xray taken?"

"Two years ago, when she fractured her shoulder blade rollerblading." She pointed out the date at the bottom of the record sheet. "What happened two years ago?"

"That was when I first met Jim Moriarty, he was…oh." He lowered the paper, eyes looking into the distance. "He was pretending to date Molly." Lizzie smacked her forehead, and Sherlock shoved the paper at her as he dashed towards DIs Lestrade and Dimmock. Lizzie watched him explain to the detectives, and they instantly sat down at the nearest computer to start to hack into the tracking feed. John walked up behind Lizzie.

"What is going on?"

"We're going to track down Molly, the same way that my Boss tracked her down." Lizzie smirked. "Then I'm going to get my life back."

-.-.-.-

_Wake up, Wake up!_ Molly begged Sally. She dared not speak or move, for fear that Moran would waste her right then and there. Sally's body twitched, and her eyes blinked open. Her head shot up, but her mouth was gagged. Molly made a "shh" motion with her mouth, and eyed the gun and Moran. Sally's eyes were full of fear and confusion, but soon Moran noticed her consciousness.

"Greetings Miss Donovan." Moran picked up the gun, and turned off the safety. "Its been awhile since we had a detective in our custody, isn't it? No, don't squirm or yell. Nobody is going to save you. Oh, and Sherlock Holmes has forty hours to kill himself or you both die." He cocked the gun. "If you try any funny business, you're going to die."

The door screeched opened, and Ted Moriarty entered the tiny room.

"Welcome to our abode, Ms. Donovan. Enjoying your stay?" he walked up and sat on the corner of the table, next to Moran. Ted laughed, and Moran produced a small knife from his suit jacket. "Ask Molly how Sherlock survived the fall, Seb. And if she refuses to talk?" He eyed the knife in Moran's hand. He nodded, and Ted Moriarty left the room.

Molly held her breath.

-.-.-.-.-

Sherlock paced the hall, as the detectives hacked the tracking feed in Molly's collarbone. He knew that as soon as she was out, he would arrange for the damn chip to be removed. His mobile went off, indicating a text.

Opening the message, there were two things. A picture, and a brief message.

Sherlock quietly gasped. Looking at the picture, he saw Molly, bruised and beat up, tied to a chair, with Sally next to her, also beat up and tied to a chair. Sally was unconscious and gagged, while Molly was glaring at the camera, her mouth in the shape of a thin line.

Sherlock read the message:

**Kill yourself in 48 hours, or I kill them.**

**TM**


	11. Chapter 11

**Sorry I kept you all waiting for so long for this chapter. **

**Its a bit short, but the next one will be up soon I promise!**

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><p>Sherlock, after reading the text, barged into the tech room.<p>

"Lestrade! Speed up the hacking!" He yelled.

"Sherlock, I can't snap my fingers and instantly hack a wireless network." Lestrade glared back, being the voice of reason.

"Lestrade, trust me on this." Sherlock glared. John gave him a concerning look, while Lizzie raised her eyebrows. She was a near mirror image of Molly, which sometimes confused Lestrade and John. But Sherlock could see right through the disguise.

After a minute, the technician cursed.

"Damnit!" he slammed his fist on the table. Sherlock whizzed past Lestrade to see what the tech was cursing at. "It failed. You're gonna need a smarter tech and another week, at my estimate."

Sherlock stepped back with a faraway look.

"Do it by tomorrow." He muttered, barely loud enough for Lestrade to hear. He immediately left the room, picking up his coat and leaving the Yard. Lizzie and John ran after him, and stopped him before he hailed a cab.

"Sherlock!" John yelled at him. He knew that look–it always showed up when something was going horribly wrong, which was basically the last week before Sherlock faked his death.

"John, you and Lizzie have to go. I need to do this." He started to walk away from them.

"We're not leaving you, Sherlock." Lizzie grabbed his wrist, tightly.

"I told you, I have to do this."

"Not alone, you aren't."

"You have no idea what I'm doing, Lizzie. You have to leave me." Sherlock shook himself from her grip. Having none of it, she gripped him by the shoulder and spun him around. If there was one major difference between Lizzie and Molly, Lizzie was more than twice as strong.

"Something happened. What happened."

Sherlock sighed. He pulled out his phone, and handed it to her. The message was still open. Lizzie stepped back, and John peered over the shorter woman's shoulder. They looked up at Sherlock, who ducked his head.

"Oh my god." John sighed. "That's from him! Ted Moriarty!"

"Yes John, I fully realize that, unfortunately I don't want to die but I also don't want Molly and Sgt. Donovan to die."

"You could always fake your death again." John muttered, mostly to himself.

"No, they'd expect that. John, we have to find them." Sherlock spun around frantically; as if the busy street would help him find the women they were looking for.

His mobile buzzed once again; he looked down to read it, and immediately paled.

"What is it?" asked Lizzie.

Sherlock showed her the text:

**If you try to save them before the deadline, I'll kill them. You can't escape your death this time, Mr. Holmes.**

**-TM**

"Well, shit." She puffed. John read it as well.

"You can't be serious." John raised his eyebrows.

"I have to, John!" Sherlock snapped at him. "I have to save Molly and Donovan! You heard Moriarty; I can't get out of this. I have to do it." Sherlock set out down the street, Lizzie and John running behind him.

-.-.-

Sherlock had no idea where he was running. His legs took him where they decided to go, where only his body would betray his mind.

Mycroft's office.

He walked right through every door; they even let Lizzie and John through. The security knew what Sherlock looked like, and despite the blonde hair they still recognized him. He just strolled right through into Mycroft's office, where he sat at his desk, reading a file.

"Sherlock, what the hell–"

"You have to get Molly back." Sherlock blurted.

"She's right there, isn't she?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, pointing at Lizzie, who grunted with apathy.

"She's a faker, and is now in our safety, because Moriarty kidnapped Molly and Sgt. Donovan!" He yelled at his older brother, who set down the file.

"Moriarty is dea–"

"Mycroft, listen to me or I will fucking strangle you!" Sherlock yelled even louder, catching everyone in the room off guard. He took a deep breath, and continued on. "I need your tech resources to track a chip in Molly Hooper's collarbone to it's GPS location so I can _rescue her._ The police are too slow and we have 48 hours to do so."

Sherlock's mobile buzzed.

**Going to your big brother for help? Dear me, Mr. Holmes, Dear me.**

**24 hours.**

**Tick tock.**

**TM**

"24 hours, my bad." Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth. John and Lizzie gave a worried expression, and Mycroft leaned in forward on his elbows.

"And what happens in that time, may I ask?"

"I have–In 24 hours, Molly Hooper and Sgt. Sally Donovan will die, if I do not kill myself once and for all." Sherlock spoke slowly and surely. "Please." He looked up to his brother.

"I can attempt to do so. But where did the chip come from?"

"Jim Moriarty."

Mycroft closed his eyes. "How far are the police into hacking said device?"

"They say it would take a week of constant hacking skills and a tech smarter than the smartest genius in the world. Basically, they're at 0." John answered for him.

"I can do my best, brother, but I'm afraid I cannot guarantee it to be done in 24 hours." He called someone on his office phone, and upon hanging up, turned back to his brother. "We have someone on it now. Finding the network itself is going to take an hour, at the least."

Sherlock straightened his neck, and without uttering a single word, left Mycroft's office. John and Lizzie ran after him, almost missing him get into a cab.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock boomed at them. The cabbie kept driving, leaving the three on the sidewalk. "I don't have any leads, I know who has them but I don't know where they are! They could be in outer space and I wouldn't even know. There are _no possible leads, _and we are running out of time! And until Mycroft gets the feed hacked in time, they'll die, and it's _all my fault!_"

"You love her, don't you?" Lizzie asked quietly. "Man in shining armor, so capable of such great things, fearless and strong, brought down by even the threat of his lover's life coming to an end. You want her safe and in your arms, and neither of Moriarty's options contain that specific desire. One of you will die, so who will you let it be?"


	12. Chapter 12

**NOT the final chapter, but getting close! Yes I know it's a short story with short chapters but bear with me.**

**Again, short chapter. Its pretty jumpy, but I wanted to give it a rushed feeling.**

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><p>Sherlock ignored the blonde woman, and started off running towards the center of London. He was not in the mood or mind to admit his feelings for Molly, who had been such a simpleton, yet became such an intelligent, self-proclaiming figure of beauty. She and Lizzie were much the same in that aspect.<p>

He knew where he was running to, as he left Lizzie and John behind.

-.-.-.-.-**23.8 Hours left**-.-.-.-.-

Molly eyed Moran, glaring at him as he picked at his nails with his pocketknife. The black gun sat menacingly on the cold, metal table, threatening to kill Molly if she moved even an inch.

Sally, on the other hand, was half-hyperventilating in her seat, half-crying. As much as Molly wanted to shout to her to shut up, she let it slide. The girl was scared, and though being a cop, unhardened to the fear of her life being threatened before her own self.

Moriarty walked into the room, causing Molly to jump. He cackled in delight at this, as she glared back at him.

"I'll have you know, I shortened your boyfriend's time to kill himself to 24 hours. And why don't we also send a nice message to his Dear John Watson?"

Molly's mouth hung open in fear as Moriarty left the room, tapping away at his mobile.

-.-.-.-**23.5 Hours left**-.-.-.-

Sherlock kept running until he came across Bart's hospital. _Where it all began,_ he thought to himself. Shrugging off the feeling he got that crawled up over his shoulders, snaking its way into his gut, Sherlock ran inside. Lizzie and John followed suit, stopping only when Sherlock stopped.

"Where are we even going?" Lizzie threw her arms up in distaste.

"I have absolutely no idea." Sherlock replied, a false tone to his voice. John's own mobile went off, and he answered the phone call.

"…"

"What?"

"…"

"Fucking…okay, I'll be there soon." John hung up. Lizzie turned to him.

"Who was that?"

"Lestrade. He says someone on Baker Street called 911. The entire 221 complex has been blown to ashes." He replied, sad and distraught.

"He's sending a message." Sherlock muttered, loud enough for John to hear.

"Sending _what,_ Sherlock?" He just BLEW UP my HOME. That for me is just a little more than a message!"

"John–"

"No, I have to go there, Sherlock! All my possessions are _disintegrated._ I'd be lucky if there's even a fragment of the most insignificant thing I own there!" He ran out of the hospital lobby.

"Will you stay?" Sherlock turned to Lizzie.

"Of course." She replied.

-.-.-.- **23.2 Hours Left** -.-.-.-

John arrived at the scene. All of 221 and some of the neighboring buildings were reduced to ashes, nothing left. Fire trucks had arrived on the scene, but there was so little left to burn. John fought back a sob as he stood where the door to his home used to be.

"Sir?" he heard one of the firemen ask a police officer, who had arrived on the scene.

"Yes?"

"We've found remnants of a body. I think we've identified the deceased."

"Who is it then?"

"A Mrs. Hudson."

-.-.-.-**18 Hours Left**-.-.-.-

Mycroft stood behind the man who sat at the supercomputer, hacking at Molly's collar chip.

"How much more time do you need?"

"Days, sir."

-.-.-.-**16 Hours Left**-.-.-.-

"I'm going to do it, Lizzie." Sherlock said from the slab he lay on in the Morgue. He needed to think, where people wouldn't disturb him. Lizzie sat on another slab, half asleep from the day's events.

"You're–are you crazy?"

"No, I'm intelligent. And intelligent men know when they are beaten."

-.-.-.-**12 Hours left**-.-.-.-

John pondered going back to the hospital to tell Sherlock of what was going on, and how Mrs. Hudson was dead, but he was so preoccupied with police statements and having to make a billion calls, that he didn't give it a second thought.

-.-.-.-**7 Hours Left**-.-.-.-

Lizzie turned to Sherlock.

"Are you ready?"

"He's on his way. He'll see me. And it will all be over soon enough." Sherlock nodded to her.

In the distance of the Petrol station, four of Moriarty's men and Moriarty himself rode in a car towards where Sherlock now stood, with Lizzie hiding, far enough away that Moriarty would not see her.

Moriarty watched the tall figure, with blonde hair and a long black coat. They were getting closer, and he could taste victory. He saw as the man suddenly lit fire, burning black smoke. Moriarty smiled, as Sherlock Holmes' skin burnt, entire body enveloped in flames. The car pulled up next to the petrol station, where one of the attendants sprayed the burning body with a fire extinguisher.

But it was no use.

He was finally, officially, dead.


	13. Chapter 13

**Eee! Final chapter! I apologize for the shortness, I know I've been doing a lot of that lately (AKA the entire story) but its just how I write.**

**Thanks everyone, for sticking through to the end! **

**Please tell me how you liked it!**

**-Littlefoot**

* * *

><p>Molly looked up from where she sat as Moriarty strolled into the room. He set down a small handheld camera in front of her, and on the screen was a man burning to death at a Petrol station. The photo was taken from far away.<p>

"You're free to go." He smiled at her. Molly looked up, eyes streaming with tears, and pure rage emitting from her figure.

"You sick bastard! You killed him! When I get out of here I'm going to fucking slay you!" Molly screamed at him. Sally just sat next to her, shaking her head, a single tear threatening to drop.

"If you can find me." Moriarty smirked, and left the room with Moran, as two nameless henchmen entered the room with Chloroform-soaked cloth.

-.-.-.-

When John heard the news from Lizzie, who sobbed uncontrollably, he seemed to go back into soldier mode. He cut off his emotions, in attempt to not seem weak in front of the girl. She looked up at him, and remembered something Sherlock had told her before the fire.

"Don't cut it off." She whispered. "Sherlock said for you to not sever your emotions from your person. He wants you to feel. He wants you to care."

"But if I don't–"

"I'm right here for you, John." Lizzie put her hand over his, and nestled her head in his shoulder, as they sat on the couch at the Yard.

-.-.-.-

The henchman brought the chloroform up to Molly's mouth, but when he did, she turned point blank and head butted him. Sally did the same with her henchman, and the two freed themselves of the loose rope they had been working on for seventeen hours. As the men got back up, both Molly and Sally took them out with single punches. They stole their guns, and made their way out down the hall through the building. Molly saw Moriarty at last.

She laid three bullets in his brain.

Molly and Sally found an exterior window, looking to find where they were.

"Hold on–Sally, this is the top floor of the Gerkin! See? That's the river right over there!" Molly pointed.

"Who let Moriarty have control of the Gerkin?" Sally muttered, before she pulled Molly along down the corridor to the lift. They set off down the building, and concealed their guns as much as they could as they walked through the lobby, looking at the people who were unaware of the numerous dead bodies on the top floor.

The women ran to the Yard, where they were greeted with surprise, comforting hugs from Lestrade, and sideways glances at John, a girl who looked exactly like Sally, and another girl who looked exactly like Molly.

"Who the hell are you?" they asked their doppelgangers.

"I'm Lizzie." Molly's lookalike stood up, hand outstretched. Molly ignored it, and walked past her to John.

"He's dead." He muttered. Molly nodded, and buried her face in his jacket. For the first time, John let out a sob, and Sally, Lizzie and Sally's lookalike left the two to mourn the loss of their friend.

-.-.-.-

Two days later, after Molly and Sally had explained what happened in the Gerkin, and how Moriarty, Moran and everyone else were all dead, the women returned to their everyday lives. John moved in with Lizzie, as his entire home had been reduced to ashes, and every so often, showed affection for the girl.

This day, was the final memorial service for the man Sherlock Holmes. Since he had burned to death, his remains were cremated, and his urn was now being placed inside the Holmes family mausoleum. Mycroft, for once, showed more emotion than simply is appreciation for his PA Anthea, and let himself cry in front of other mourners. John and Molly sat next to each other, making small talk.

"Mrs. Hudson's family is having the memorial service next week. Will you and Lizzie be in town?" Molly inquired.

"Yes, I believe we will. Even though Lizzie never met her, she still wants to attend."

"I think that's lovely." Molly replied sadly. She looked around. "Where is Lizzie, by the way?"

"I believe she went to the ladies room." He jerked his thumb backwards, towards the opposite end of the church.

..

But up in the bell tower, Lizzie stood against the railing, looking down on the streets of London. The wind chilled her, and she looked to her left, to see an old friend.

"Do they miss me?" he asked, his deep baritone voice muted by the rushing wind.

"More than anything." Lizzie replied.

"Molly?"

"Of course. I have yet to see her smile."

"And John?"

"He's let himself make expression. Although, he's going to be very sad for a while. He did just lose his best friend, you know."

"I know."

"Are you going to Mrs. Hudson's memorial service?"

"How could I not? She's the best woman anyone could have asked for as a landlady." He replied. He propped up the collar of his black overcoat, blocking the wind from his body, "do keep me filled in, though. I want to know how he's doing."

"Do you think you'll ever see him again?"

The black-haired man pondered this question for a moment before answering. "No, neither Molly. I have to disappear completely this time. Moriarty, Moran, and the men that Molly and Sally killed at the top of the Gerkin that day may be gone, but there are others that want me dead. So its best I stay dead."

"You love Molly though."

"And when you love something, you let them go." He looked down at the shorter woman.

"Where will you go?"

"Far away from London. And I won't be coming back." He replied, before giving her a curt nod, and walking away.

Lizzie watched Sherlock Holmes depart down the stairs from the belltower.

* * *

><p><em>All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring, is not an advantage.<em>


	14. News and Updates

**Hey guys!**

**So I realize that was a pretty soul-destroying ending. To be truthful, I had no idea how it would end, but I like how it did! It went pretty quick, with the shortness of the chapters. Quite a few people were upset at the ending.**

**But alas! There will be more!**

**After finals are over, I will post the sequel to **_**The Return of the Dead,**_** which will feature Sherlock's travels around the world, and him keeping a watchful, protective eye on John, Molly and Lizzie! **

**So do stay tuned :)**

**Littlefoot**


	15. Next Story

Greetings, readers!

The sequel to this story, **Seven Strings**, is now posted! The first chapter is up, and the second will be _written_/_posted_ after _finals_/_after I die_

Keep reading,

Littlefoot


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